Potion
by evilfluffiness
Summary: My theory of what the potion in book 6 was...as well as how that could affect the plot.


Prophecies Interpreted

Even after it was over, it wasn't really over. Harry shuddered as he watched the limp figure being dragged down into the nothingness by the pack of ghostly blue lions – "But they won't come for me." He thought. And he knew that, but he had to keep on reminding himself anyway, so that it throbbed in his overwhelmed brain – would he care if they did come for him? If a few of them lept up from their pit, which looked easy to do, and freed him from his bonds, only to devour him? It was the dying he was avoiding now, not the death. And even then he could not help thinking he was weak, for fear of pain. But he had had too much of it already.

"If this was staged somehow… If he isn't actually dead… if it's a double… polyjuice potion…" How hideous, the very thought of anyone using polyjuice to turn into a double of him, to fake his death… But it wasn't true anyway. Voldemort had really died. And as for who else had, he didn't care to tally. _But I haven't._ Did _I_ kill him? The prophecy said I would, but I didn't… Why? Am I dead and dreaming right now? I wanted to be the one to do him in, and Dumbledore would be disappointed that I'm standing here screaming that I didn't get to.

And worstly, he was stuck in his bonds for hours, he wasn't sure how many, alone with his thoughts. The uncomfortable position and the memories and questions made it too hard for him to sleep. He wanted to sleep. And he wasn't sure if he should.

There are still his followers… what will happen to them? Will they be too afraid of his return to stop the attacks? Would they still kill me anyway, to crazed to know… Or because they blame me… I'm helpless now. Had he been less tired, he might have attempted a wandless spell to free himself, but where would he go anyway? The portkey's gone. They're evil anyway… Bellatrix. What happened…

He awoke in a small, one-room cabbin with Tonks, Draco, and Dobby. He was in a bed, near the fireplace. He had dreamed of Bellatrix, only in his dream she had been screaming at _him_, Harry. He remembered her screaming at Voldemort in real-life, only the night before, only he didn't remember the words. Just the sound. He remembered thinking of what nerve she must have, or did she know she would die already? He remembered the green flash that killed Narcissa, and then her screaming. He didn't care, he didn't even look her way. And then killing her, too. But he had listened first to what she had said. It didn't mean much to Harry, but he could imagine it must mean something to Voldemort…or else Bellatrix was crazy, which was a possibility after being a death-eater for so long.

But why? There must have been a lot built up, or she wouldn't have cared. She didn't care for her sister. And then him going in to the pit, deftly, to get his horcrux, with Harry and Hermione watching right there. Only because he would kill them later. Or because he was too distracted to kill them then, although he didn't seem the type to get distracted by… "Harry, you're awake!"

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"_Everyone - Even Muggles!"_

Ginny jolted awake panting and sweating. A nightmare. She tried to remember it, the last three she'd had had slipped away from her before she'd been able to identify and come to terms with them. And at the same time, she tried to forget…in fear that after identification would come without solution. She had never stopped having nightmares about the Chamber of Secrets. Or the battle at the ministry. But weirder still, she had begun having nightmares about things that had happened to Harry, but that she hadn't even witnessed happen in real life. Like the fight at the graveyard in his fourth year. Or with the mirror in his first. _Is that just part of love? _Harry was gone now, he had left without telling anyone, not even her. She'd denied ferociously that he'd gone by choice, but all the evidence disagreed. She'd then tried to follow him, foolish as she knew it was…but Molly had seen her. Now half the Order was looking for him, but Ginny and the Weasley's were at home…. It had been three days now, since he'd left, and nothing felt normal. He'd gone the day after the wedding, off being noble, most liklely. _How selfish of him!_ She rolled over in bed, burrying her face into her pillow, but the dream came back to her with a force. Crying out softly, Ginny threw off her covers and struggled to light a candle with trembling fingers. She used three matches to light it, and only then did it occur to her to use a wand instead. She cried softly as she stumbled downstairs, sure her nighmare meant something…. They often did, in the Wizarding world. She thought indignantly of Divination class at Hogwarts, which only made her want to cry more. Her eyes blurred, so that the light from the candle ran like overly dilluted paint on parchment, reaching out to her in the dark. She was taken aback at some bustling noises coming from the kitchen, but when she came closer she found it was just her family…but what were they all doing? The house elf seemed joyous, sipping watered butterbeer from a mug, while Mrs. Weasley stood over a counter on which sandwiches made themselves. In fact…everyone seemed happy. "What?" Ginny asked. "_More_ wedding jolliness?" "No, dear," Molly answered. Ron stumbled in groggily, "What the hell…" Hermione looked thoughtful for a moment, then ran over to Ron and hugged him. Ginny looked away until Hermione burst out with, "He's dead!" Ginny was sure she meant Harry, her dream told her so. But she couldn't figure out why everyone was so damn happy! "Who's dead?" "He-Who- Voldemort!" Hermione said suddenly and then giggled. "Where's Harry, though?" Ginny asked, sinking with relief. "St. Mungos hospital, I'm afraid." Mr. Weasley answered. Again, Ginny started. Seeing her concern, Molly reassured her, "Doctors say it's not serious." Ginny let out a sigh. Then, suddenly a thought came to her. Akwardly, she turned to Molly, "Mum," "What is it, dear? My, you don't look well at all!" "I had a bad dream," Ginny said hastily. "Mum…has anything changed about him? Is he…okay?" "I think so." Molly frowned. "Poor dear, he must be in quite a shock…" "Was he there? Did he kill him?" Molly looked startled, "No." Ginny's expression changed to questioning, but Molly only said, "You'll see him soon. Tomorrow, perhaps. For now, I'm sure the festivities will start soon…even for the muggles."

The Potion 

Voldemort sighed as he reached the summit and clambered over to the cauldren on its column. This potion idea was in two places, which he wasn't too proud of. He liked to keep origional for each defense. Otherwise nobody was surprised. Besides, it hadn't worked too well last time. Regulus Black had already been killed for stealing that horcrux, but he hadn't gotten it back. And of course Narcissa had wanted reward for killing him, anyway. Somehow, he couldn't picture the faint-hearted Narcissa killing anyone. No, she wasn't all too faint, he supposed. Only with Draco. He pushed the thought of Draco out of his mind. He didn't like killing off his own. It meant less people to help him, fewer followers. And he was becoming increasingly short of trustworthy followers. But this time, it bothered him for another, unplaceable reason. He didn't know why. He didn't even want to. "You would think by now I would be used to killing children in front of their parents..." He conjured the goblet with a lazy wave of the wand, and took his first sip. Not a gulp, just a sip, though he knew well what was in it. The same thing Regulus and that bumbling Dumbledore had drunk. (An exaggerated, supposedly hypnotic form of pensieve whose effect on those other than him he could only guess at. That was how much more profound he was than them, he told himself. When in his stead for just a mere few minutes, living in weird Choice fragments of time, they keeled over under the pressure of being Him, as great as he was.)

He didn't care to name the substance, it wasn't as if anyone but him would ever get ahold of the idea and formula – not to mention _use _it, if _he_ had used it...they despised everything he used, didn't they, no matter how useful.

He waited, and kept sipping. Soon the sips turned to gulps, he stopped trying to savor. His first few memories in the basin, though they themselves were successful, only led to remind him of the more unpleasant happenings surrounding them, like the indentation in Stillwater when an object was floating on it. So he gulped on, hoping the latter memories would be more satisfying. But they weren't. Somehow, they didn't even feel like memories. They felt like praise from some worthless Death Eater, trying to remind him not to get depressed, he had done Great Things. Usually when a Death Eater did that to him, or tried to, he would hurt him or her. He hated being treated like a child, whose parents were convincing and cajoling him. His parents never had.

He had supposed he would wait until the horcrux was moved to add the new memory. The one where he killed Draco. It was a good one, and might stop Potter if he ever tried to drink the potion… Potter, slow as he was, wouldn't know the function of the potion yet. He would be surprised. Still… Voldemort realized, with something like mild shock, that the memory would be unpleasant even to him. Draco, after all, had been a Death Eater. Best not to add the memory. But, he also realized that even without the potion, he had the memory in him. Not the first Death Eater I've killed, definitely… So why should I feel…remorse? How could he?! He was a strong man! The evilest of the evil, cruelest of the cruel! He felt the memory he was drinking fade almost completely for this distraction, so steadied himself for another sip. Oh…the part where I kill Lily and James…goody… A faint, anticipating smile played on his lips, a sick smile he often wore. But as Lily and James, and baby Harry came into view, he only felt an intense, passionate anger… Then bitterness as he wittnessed the begging and pleas, and final "Avada Kadavra"s. "How did I forget? How did I forget about that silly protection? I lost thirteen years of power to a careless mistake when I tried to kill Harry. Why? He would be dead by now! Not trying to steal this blasted horcrux!" Upon memory of his horcruxes, the soul in him weighed much more, or seemed to. Then suddenly, much less. Next in the potion was him, shredding his soul…Why? Why did he put that memory in here? It was painful… He had felt pride then, which numbed the pain… but now he felt as if the remainder of his soul was trying to escape him. "No! Just concentrate on drinking! I can't stop midway or I'll die!" Die? He could see the "Prophet" story already: "In a Wonderfully Ironic Demise He-Who-" No damnit! They'd say his name! After he died… The thought of that was simply too much to bear, and he collapsed in a heap. The guards here weren't inferi. They were lions. Of a sort. Luckily, he was unconsious by the time they came from the deep, summoned by his goblet, which, limp in his hand, happened to brush a smallish pond. How the lions all fit into that small pond was a mystery of magic. And a secret. When they finally left, Voldemort with them, the horcrux disappeared, then reformed itself back in the cauldron, which was autimatically replenished. Wormtail would rescue it soon, and use this last chance at Voldemort's rebirth… Unless Harry got to it first… And got past the potion...


End file.
